Crash and Burn
by DetectiveMinerva
Summary: After Diana's funeral, Queen Elizabeth is left with more self-doubts and fears than she has had in years. When she goes to talk to the one person who isn't there to help her, Prince Philip goes after her - hoping to remind her that she is not alone.


After seeing the movie _The Queen,_ I couldn't help but wonder about the gap in between Diana's funeral and the next meeting with the Queen and Tony Blair. What was going on after the funeral was over? What would the queen have been going through? I imagine that she was seriously questioning herself after all that had happened, and wishing her father were still there to guide her. This story explores that possibility, as well as tells a sweet, romantic story of how Prince Philip is there for his wife when she just needs to crash and burn.

* * *

Applause. Thunderous applause.

It had happened twice. Once after her televised tribute. Once after the Earl Spencer's eulogy at the funeral. Both had been deafening. But only one stuck with the woman now gazing out the window of Buckingham Palace.

Queen Elizabeth II heaved a great sigh that seemed to come from her toes. Really, it should have been a sigh of relief, after all that had happened last week. Diana's tragic death. The outpouring of grief from the British people - and their great anger when she didn't come to London. The anger, thank God, had subsided after she honored Diana on television the day before the funeral. The applause of the crowd outside the palace had surprised her. After Tony Blair's shocking revelation that one in four people wanted her gone - not dead, but the monarchy abolished - she had, for the first time, expected to be booed at the conclusion of her speech. The applause brought sweet relief, and also a wave of hope that, just maybe, all was forgiven.

 _If only I were sure about that_ , Elizabeth thought to herself, watching the gardeners who worked hard each day to keep the palace grounds immaculate. A good thing, too - the queen could foresee several long walks on the grounds with Mr. Blair in the future. Long walks always did wonders for discussions about affairs of state. And for those feeling utterly lost.

The clock on the study mantelpiece chimed half-past ten, but Elizabeth wasn't in the mood to get herself ready for the usual midmorning snack at 11 o'clock. What she was really hungry for was answers. Had she done the right thing? Had she acted in the best interests of her grandsons, who were now without a mother? Had she done more harm than good to the monarchy? Why did her own people hate her so? She knew all the questions, but the one person who could answer them wasn't there - and never would be.

 _Papa… what would you have done?_

A knock on the study door startled her. "Come in!" she called, smoothing out her lightweight black dress.

The door opened to admit Robin Janvrin, her private secretary, with the morning's red box from 10 Downing Street under his arm. "Good morning, Your Majesty," he greeted her, bowing at the neck.

"Good morning, Robin." Elizabeth nodded at the box. "I see Mr. Blair has sent me busy work for the return trip to Scotland."

Robin couldn't help a slight grin at that. "Yes, ma'am. The Prime Minister sent this for sheer convenience - yours, not his." He paused. "He also sends his thanks and admiration."

Elizabeth let that sink in for a second. Thanks? Well, she did acquiesce to his (and London's) request when she came down to honor Diana. If she was any judge of character, Mr. Blair was thanking her mainly for saving the monarchy's skin - and, by extension, securing a reelection and a glittering image for him. But the other one… "Admiration?"

"Yes, ma'am. For being so understanding of your people's needs, and for averting a potential crisis. He admires you greatly for that."

Elizabeth gave him a wry half-grin. "He's probably the only person in the United Kingdom who does."

Robin's smile vanished. With all due respect, ma'am, please don't talk like that. Of course he's not. We, all of us here and at Balmoral - we've all got your back. We never lost faith in you or doubted your intentions for an instant."

Now it was Elizabeth's turn to gaze at him with admiration. She'd seen a lot of staff at the palaces come and go over the years, all with varying degrees of loyalty. To hear Robin make such a declaration, especially in the wake of the fury surrounding Diana's death, touched her to the core. Although she wasn't one for allowing people to see her emotions, Elizabeth gave her private secretary a grateful smile. "Thank you, Robin," she said, not caring that her voice hitched on the words.

Robin gave her a respectful nod in return. "You're welcome, ma'am." An emotional silence passed before he spoke again. "Well," he said, setting the red box on the queen's desk, "if there's anything else I can do for you…"

"Yes, there is." The idea that had been swirling in Elizabeth's head now burst into full bloom. "Will you please inform the Duke of Edinburgh that I won't be joining him for elevenses?"

Robin didn't even raise an eyebrow. Years of working with the queen and her consort had taught him to know when they were squabbling and when things were cricket. The queen's tone said _cricket_ \- at least, as far as the Duke was concerned. Robin knew that things were not fine for her personally, but he also knew that in these times, all she wanted was some privacy. "Yes, ma'am. Shall I also tell him where you'll be going?"

"Windsor Castle, if he asks."

"The castle itself?"

"St. George's Chapel."

The queen didn't elaborate, but Robin knew her well enough to comprehend her unspoken meaning. "Very good, ma'am. Will one of the security detail be accompanying you?"

"Yes." Elizabeth's wry smile returned. "I'm not a total idiot, you know."

"No, ma'am. Far from it." Robin bowed over her hand, kissed it, and gave her a smile. "Safe journey, Your Majesty."

"Thank you, Robin." Her private secretary backed out of the room per protocol, leaving Elizabeth free to call for her escort. Martin, one of her secret servicemen, soon entered, while the queen grabbed what essentials she needed for the drive to Windsor: a summer jacket, a silk scarf for her hair, and her handbag.

"Will you be driving today, Your Majesty?" Martin asked, as they walked out to the waiting Rolls Royce.

Again, Elizabeth found herself smiling in spite of her glum mood. Her staff knew that driving helped soothe her emotions, and taking the recent events into consideration (events that should have meant her being chauffeured), this was an unexpected, yet welcome, blessing. "Yes, I will, Martin." Elizabeth gave him a grateful look. "Thank you."

"It's my pleasure, ma'am." Martin held the driver door open for her and waited for her to slide in before getting in himself, and then they were off to Windsor.

* * *

The clock in the adjoining master bedrooms struck eleven just as Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, entered from his bathroom, fresh from his post-exercise shower. Even at 76 years of age, he still rose early to spend a few hours working out - a habit instilled in him from his days in the Royal Navy. He would perform pushups, situps, jumping jacks, and all other manner of calisthenics before going for a long run. Then, it was back to his room to shower and change into a suit, to begin whatever litany of engagements had been planned for him that day. Today, however, there was nothing. In light of "recent events" (Diana's death and all the bloody nonsense surrounding it), the palace staff and advisors at Whitehall had deemed it necessary for the royal family to take a break from official duties. "Until the public calms down," was the word. Philip could understand that. They needed to calm down, all right. Calm down so he, Elizabeth, and the rest of the family didn't find bullets in their backs.

In all honesty, though, Philip wasn't worried for himself so much as he was for Elizabeth. He hadn't been blind to the fact that nearly all of the ugly headlines in the press had been aimed squarely at her. People had been calling for her abdication, and Philip had been surprised that they hadn't outright called for her death, given how hysterical they'd all been. Never mind the fact that Elizabeth had put her family first; looked after William and Harry when they most needed comfort. In hindsight, Philip realized that she had been caught in a catch-22 situation. Had she come down to London right away, Elizabeth would have been attacked just the same, for not taking the time to console and look after her grandsons. But, the other shoe had fallen: she saw to William and Harry first, and she was raked over the coals for supposedly not caring about Diana. Did her own people really think her so heartless?

Philip growled in his throat at the very thought. Elizabeth was not one to publicly reveal her emotions, it was true, but she was as far from heartless as the east was from the west. The steely mask she wore in public concealed a tender heart, one that Philip had seen broken too many times in the 50 years they had been married. Last week's whole rotten affair had nearly shattered Elizabeth. Philip hadn't seen her that broken since the death of her father 45 years ago. It had broken her in more ways than one: her heart was in pieces over losing her beloved papa, and her quiet, near-normal life was obliterated when the monarchy of the United Kingdom settled upon her shoulders. Consequently, she'd found her confidence nearly rent in two on multiple occasions, been betrayed by close advisors and friends, and faced disaster that affected their entire family. Each and every time, Elizabeth had been torn apart inside, saving her tears for his eyes only.

This time, however, she had not come to him for comfort. Elizabeth had been spending more and more time alone in the two days since Diana's funeral. Philip suspected she was beginning to obsess over the past week - what she could have done differently, if she had done the right thing. He was worried about her, and planned to address it with her as soon as they joined for their tea and biscuits.

Speak of the devil, there was a knock at the door. "Come in!"

The door opened, but it wasn't a footman with the morning repast. Robin Janvrin entered and bowed his head to Philip. "Good morning, Your Royal Highness."

"Good morning, Robin. If you're looking for the queen, she's not here yet," Philip said.

"I know, sir. I've been looking for you, to give you a message from Her Majesty. She told me to inform you that she won't be joining you for elevenses today."

Philip's eyebrows knit together. "No? Whyever not?"

"The queen will be at Windsor Castle for a while," Robin told him. "St. George's Chapel."

"St. George's Chapel? Why on Earth…" Philip trailed off, suddenly realizing what Robin was getting at. "Never mind. I know why." He rose from then chair he'd been sitting in. "Did she explicitly say that she wanted to be alone?"

"No, sir, but…" Robin smiled slightly. "I have a feeling that, where she's going, she's going to need someone to lean on. With all due respect, sir, you're the only one who can do that for her."

A smile of his own flirted with Philip's mouth. In a lot of ways, Robin reminded him of Martin Charteris, who had been their private secretary many years ago. Martin hadn't been condescending like Tommy Lascelles or afraid to truly speak his mind, like Michael Adeane. Robin was very much in Martin's mold: supportive and astute, yet not a fawning sycophant. And Philip appreciated him all the more for his honesty. "You've had a gauge of her emotions this morning, Robin. Will she appreciate it if I join her at Windsor?"

"To tell you the truth, sir, I think a part of her might actually be expecting it."

Now the smile fully crossed Philip's face. Robin knew Elizabeth almost as well as he did, and Philip knew Robin well enough to hear the unspoken go after her in the man's words. "In that case, I'm off to Windsor."

As Philip turned to depart for the palace garage, Robin called after him, "Shall I inform the Prince of Wales of your whereabouts, sir?"

Philip pivoted on his heel, snorting at the mention of his eldest son's title. "Don't. If he wants to fret about where his mother and I are, let him. I know it seems as though the queen and I haven't acknowledged it very often, but he's still half-responsible for all of the torment we've had to endure in the last week, to say nothing of the last few years. At the moment, I'm not too keen on speaking to Charles. Not when his mother is wracked with guilt and self-doubt, and he can't even bother to apologize to her for all of this nonsense." The prince raised his chin. "I must seem heartless to you right now, but I meant every word."

A rather grim smile appeared on Robin's face. "I understand, sir. And if I may be frank…"

"Be as frank as you like."

"I don't blame you in the slightest."

Philip's grin returned. "Robin, you're a good man."

The private secretary nodded. "Safe travels, sir. Your secret is safe with me."

Minutes later, a sleek black Jaguar was making tracks through London, the Duke of Edinburgh behind the wheel. Philip was alone in the car - not the wisest of choices at this time, he admitted to himself, but he wasn't especially in the mood for company. The only company he longed for was his wife's… and he had the sneaking suspicion that she needed his, now more than ever.


End file.
